SHRIEK ATTACK!

SHRIEK ATTACK!

PARAMETRIC PURGATORY

SLAYER The Ritz New York City

December 7, 1986

Kris Needs

This was the Big One for New York’s growing gaggle of black-death-thrashspeed metal hordes. Slayer’s latest, Reign In Blood, seemed to imprint every selfrespecting leather in the city with the Slay-star logo. Hair was flying in anticipation. It promised to be a night to remember.

And it certainly was.

Never have I been exposed to such overwhelming volume (in excess of Motorhead themselves). Never have I witnessed such berserk crowd response, with the bouncers working overtime hurling the tidal wave of flying stage-divers into their moments of glory. Never have I heard such stupid stage announcements as those of singer/bassist Tom Araya!

Yes, this was a maximum event. Afterward I had to take a shovel and scrape my brains off the back wall in order to shove them back into my cranium. And they went in upside-down, like Slayer’s stage crosses. Now I think I’m the God of Hell-fire.

Death metal is a growing force; it simply cannot be denied. And Slayer are the prime demi-gods of this music. When people say “Slayer,” they’re inclined to go wild-eyed, clench their fists and bellow “SLAYER!” in some exorcist chundergrowl.

Indeed, the group plays up to their image and reputation. A formidable bank of eight Marshall stacks leered from the back of the stage, broken only by megadrummer Dave Lombardo’s mega-drums. Smoke billowed ominously and intermittently. Halfway through, a pair of upside-down crosses spewing blinding white light appeared. Tom talked a lot about death in between songs, and in a voice designed to be sinisterly bad. And then, of course, there’s the music.

Strip away all the death-rattle Satanic overkill (if you want to—-and who does?— it’s all part of Slayer, innit?) and there’s this rampant beast of a metal band. They are impossibly fast when they want to be fast, and gut-detonatingly powerful when they put on the breaks and grind into metal-raunch. Guitarists Jeff Hanneman and Kerry King are whiplash-quick and can pile on the feedback chaos with a Blue Cheerish ferocity that grabs you by the throat and shakes you like a rabid hound let loose on a cutlet. Ears bleed for mercy. Stomachs shout “No!” Tastebuds numb into an octane-pulse delirium. Your head could fly off if you tried to nod time; there were certainly a few errant toupees peppering the lightbulbs of the Ritz.

Naturally, Slayer played songs from all their albums—Show No Mercy, Hell Awaits and Reign In Blood. Highlights included flame-breathing versions of “Black Magic,” “Chemical Warfare,” “Evil Has No Boundaries,” “Necrophiliac” and a bludgeoning encore of the new album’s genital-slicing all-time Slayer-killer, “Angel Of Death.” It was nightmare bliss.

But it would have been more effective if they’d simply steamed from song to song with no space to breathe. Instead, we had longish gaps with Tom grinning insanely and hollering “I like to fuck chicks”—and I lost count of the times he croaked the key word “death” during his “we are so evil” tirades. Still, it was all part of the fun; they’re obviously tightening with time. Drop the chat and we might very well all die to the toll of the Slay-bells.

Slayer’s chosen path is a dark one. There is no light at the end of the tunnel, only burning sulphur—and the trip is getting faster all the time. It’s awesome and mesmerizing. But, above all, it’s GOOD DIRTY FUN!

PLAY BAAL!

THE PAGANS Seventh St. Entry Minneapolis, MN

November 29, 1986

Peter Davis

Personal anticipation for this gig was running high—after all, this was going to be the Pagans. We’re talking about what might be the only chance I’d ever get to see a legendary band, although they never truly tasted that status ... and this seven years after their demise (with the exception of a brief reunion in ’82/’83).

So why all the fuss? Well, as I’ve stated in the past “the Pagans were the greatest American punk band ever to rear their ugly heads." Period.

You, of course, are probably wondering why it is they were so great and why you’ve never heard of them. Well, that’s simple: nobody ever knew about them. For the most part they were an obscure bunch of snot-noses from Cleveland who released four singles during their brief two-year existence (and good luck to you in finding them). Fortunately, though, last year saw the release—by independent Treehouse Records (P.O. 80037, Minneapolis, MN 55408)—of Buried Alive. This indie features those four rare singles plus live and studio outtakes never before available, constituting an LP that comes off as fresh and inspiring as they were way back when.

Anyway, after a one-off Halloween show in their hometown (inspired by the popularity of Buried Alive), this show was set. Word had reached Treehouse that the boys were in better performing shape than ever and—being overwhelmed by the Hallows Eve turnout and response— they were sufficiently motivated to work up some new material to record. And maybe, just maybe, make another go of the whole thing.

OK, OK enough of my back alley rambling. The Pagans were awesome. There’s no two ways about it: they went beyond all expectations, and, as a rule of thumb, my expectations are nil when it comes to the “reunion” gig. The crowd packed into this show, which also featured local pop-punk stalwarts, the Magnolias (their Concrete Pillbox album had just been released on Twin/Tone). It was a wise move, as it insured a worthy attendance and a chance to enlighten and expose the Pagans to the unenlightened.

Yeah, I could go on about how bombastically great the Pagans were this night, but I’ll simplify the process: those who were there to see the cool-off-my-lipswith-my-fingers-bad-boy-banter that is Michael Hudson’s crooning, the subhuman sledgehammer of Mike Metoff’s Mashallized-Gibson S.G. and the combined piledriving effect of Tim Alee’s bass and Bob Richey’s (the only guy not in the original line-up) fluid drumming, couldn’t help but feel jaded, and deservedly so. The Pagans are simple yet smart and impact on contact. And there’s good news to be had from all of this. It seems the Pagans could be back together for real. And for this you should be counting your blessings. These guys are too good to ignore twice.